“That would all be true, if my heart was in it,” replied Conway indifferently. “But I am content to stay where I am. Perhaps, after all, my talents are best adapted to the dull routine of a country physician. Be satisfied, my dear friend, with your own prosperity, and let those who are less fortunate suffer; believe me, that is the way of the world.” “But it is not my way,” said Jim sturdily. “Nor is it Norine’s. Of course, I am glad we have got this money. It is a great thing to know that one need never trouble one’s self with the ‘carking cares of poverty.’ But I do not believe God put this money in our hands just to gratify our selfishness. I hope to make it do some good to others than ourselves. Besides that,” he went on, speaking very earnestly, “I feel that we owe our good fortune to you; it was you who was with our aunt. If it had been any one else, how do we know what might have happened? I tell you plainly, Lester, that I shall not be able to enjoy my fortune until I have paid at least a part of the debt we owe you.” “You owe me nothing but good wishes,” returned Conway. “Perhaps some time in the future I may want you to help me; but it is not likely. Believe me, I am content.” “It is all Norine’s fault,” grumbled Jim in a deeply injured tone. “I don’t see why you don’t marry her, and have done with it. Just think if you went there with us, and started a practice, you might win her in a year.” “If I thought I could in ten,” replied Conway, “I would go; but I know it is impossible. Let it rest, my friend. You will have plenty of opportunities of assisting me, for whenever my poor people get unusually poor, I will call on you.” With this Jim was obliged to be silent, if not content. But he parted from his friend with sincere sorrow. “You will come out and bid Norine good-by,” he said at parting. “You would not make her unhappy by refusing?” “I will come,” said Conway; and so Jim was obliged to leave him. The next morning they started early. Conway was there, as he had promised, and parted from them both with many cheerful wishes. Norine was very quiet and subdued at parting from her old home. “I am glad you came,” she said to Conway. “I should have been unhappy to have gone without a farewell from my brother.” Conway winced a little at this; but, fortunately, they were about to start, and that spared him somewhat. “You will see us again,” said Norine, giving him her hand; and then, as she was about to enter the carriage, she said simply: “You will kiss me good-by, won’t you?” And he kissed her good-by and wondered dumbly that he had strength enough to relinquish her after he had once held her in his arms, and he stood there dreamily until long after the carriage was out of sight, and then awakened to find himself in the midst of the lamenting Higginses.